Just Breathe
by SuperDoctorOnceAWolf
Summary: While on a date, you get separated from Stiles. Hunted by Peter Hale, you rush to the only safe place you know: the vet clinic. Stiles / Reader pairing. Leaving this as completed. The story might get revisited.
1. Just Breathe

Your hands are shaking. Partly because it's cold out. Adrenaline, and fear are contributing factors, too. If you weren't listening to the roar of your heart, you would be able to hear the batteries bouncing inside the flashlight you're currently clutching. Speaking of which, you haven't turned it off. The high beam is pointed at the night sky, giving away your hiding spot. _Idiot. _With stiff thumbs, you manage to turn off the light.

_"__Breathe, just breathe. "_

Over the rush of blood in your ears, his voice rings crystal clear, as if he's standing behind you. You close your eyes and focus on your breathing. Pulling in a deep breath through your nose, you hold it for a second, and blow it out.

_"__Again."_ His hands were warm that day.

It's a long process, but you repeat the steps until the rush of blood quiets. The final breath is pushed out, fogging the air in front of you.

Your legs are rubbery. Using the wall at your back for support, you stand slowly. Taking a chance, you emerge from behind the bales of hay, and survey the open field. Scared that the werewolf would jump out, and tear at your face with his long claws, you're half-tempted to plop down to the ground again.

_"__No. Don't hide. The longer you hide, the more scared you are, the easier it will be for him to find you. "_

_"__Don't be scared? Right! I'll master that talent right after I end world hunger." _

_His eyes light up as he smiles. The smile quickly fades when the unmistakable sound of a werewolf howl rips through the air. RUN!"_

It feels like hours have passed since his panic-laced voice shouted a command at you. You listened to him, of course. How could you not? He loves you, he said so himself. He's just trying to protect you.

So you ran. You ran until your lungs screamed, until your legs couldn't move, until you found the small shed.

Now? Well, now you're alone. In the woods. With a homicidal werewolf. Just how you pictured your night turning out when you made plans for your date.

Stepping out from behind the shed, you realize you have no idea where you are. All sense of direction was lost as soon as you pushed away from him. More like he pushed you.

_"__RUN! I'll distract him." _

_You shake your head, determined to stay by his side. If you're going to die, it's going to be with the boy you love._

_With his hands on your shoulders, he kisses you firmly, his eyes drilling into yours. "I love you, now GO!" The same hands that you find comfort in, spin you around and shove hard. _

_You trip over your own feet. Risking a glance over your shoulder, you see he's already gone. _

_Where you are directed away from the werewolf, he's running toward it. _

Tearing your eyes away from the line of trees, you quickly locate the brightest star in the sky.

Do you head north, away from town?

Or south, toward the town full of innocent people?

North is nothing but more trees.

South has anything and everything you need for something like this.

North is the unknown, variables, and probable death.

South is your family, and Deaton. Deaton would be able to keep you safe. He might even know if your boyfriend was still alive.

God… the thought of losing him tears at your heart.

A noise from behind stops you in your tracks. Leaves rustle and twigs snap.

_Oh God, oh God, oh God. _

Flashlight clutched to your chest, you turn to face your enemy. Prepared to find a werewolf looming over, the sight of a deer loosens the knot in your chest. Her ears twitch, damp nose twitching as it smells the air around her. If there was any danger around, she wouldn't be here.

The deer doesn't distract you from what's going on. He's still out there, hunting you, desperate to turn you into one of him.

_"__I won't let him touch you."_

The phone in your back pocket is heavy, as if it's begging you to call him. You keep the flashlight firm in your grip to keep from pulling the phone out and dialing his number, to hear his voice, to know that he's still alive.

Dirt gives way to asphalt. You're one mile from the veterinary clinic. That much closer to your family, and friends. Hopefully, that much farther from danger.

As if hearing your inner thoughts, and feeling your confidence rise, a howl rips through the sky. That was much closer than before.

Jumping as the eerie sound washes over you, goose bumps flare to life. You drop the flashlight and run down the vacant street.

One mile. You can do this. You set the record for the fastest mile run freshman year.

But you weren't afraid then. You weren't running for your life. You didn't have a werewolf charging after you.

They tell you not to look over your shoulder, that it slows you down. You know what? They're right. You keep glancing over your shoulder, expecting to see the beast. His jaws open wide, drool dripping onto your shoulder right before he tears into your neck. Every time you look, your feet change course.

You push your legs harder, swing your arms faster until the clinic is in sight. Closer, and closer until finally, your hand grips the cool metal handle.

You don't notice you're crying until the door closes behind you, the little bell tinkling at the arrival of someone.

Deaton appears from the back room. His eyes flood with concern when he sees you. "Are you ok?"

You can hear the growl, low and menacing as it grows closer to the building. You turn slowly but find the other side of the door empty.

"Get over here, now." Deaton's voice is commanding, yet gentle.

Backing away from the door, you move closer to the reception desk. The desk that is lined with mountain ash.

You jump when his hands are on your shoulders. "Sorry… I'm sorry. I didn't know where else to go."

He says your name gently. "You know you can always come here."

Once inside an empty exam room, he hands you a bottle of water. His dark eyes search yours as you drain it, pulling at the cool liquid as if it's been hours since you last drank.

He waits until you're finished, tossing the bottle into the recycling. "Now, what happened?"

You don't even know where to start. "We… we went for a walk after the movie –"

Deaton holds up his hand, a dark brow arched. "Wait a second. 'We?'"

When you nod, he groans, and runs the raised hand over his features. "Where is he now?"

You shrug, and feel your chin start to quake. The tears you shed while running were out of fear for your own life. But now, the tears threatening to fall are out of fear of the unknown.

You pull your phone from your pocket. No missed calls. No new texts. Nothing. The large knot you worked so hard to undo was back, and it was larger than before.

Deaton is suddenly in front of you. "Have you called Scott?"

You manage to choke out one word. "No."

He digs out his own phone and quickly locates Scott's number. "You need to get here."

The minutes pass like hours until finally, your brother is on his knees in front of you. "How long has she been like this?"

Your eyes are unfocused as your mind races, imagining all the horrible things being done to your boyfriend. The phone had fallen from your hands so they could dive through your hair, and grab at the back of your neck.

"Since I called. She said they went on a walk."

Scott stands, his hands balled into fists. "It's the full moon."

"That didn't stop them."

Your brother groans deep, a growl bubbles to the surface as he fights the beast within. He's on his knees again, hands holding your face. Hands that shook to keep his claws from slicing into you. He may be a werewolf, but he would die to keep the same thing from happening to you.

He says your name, pulls your attention away from the floor. "Where were you? Where did you go after the movie?"

At first, Scott didn't approve of your relationship, but then he realized that it was more than just a high school crush. That standing in the way of things would only drive you away.

"HEY! Tell me where you were."

Dark brown eyes flash alpha red, and that's enough to get you to talk. "The lookout. We were headed toward the lookout."

Red fades to brown before he kisses your forehead. "I'll find him, ok?"

He and Deaton exchange a look before your brother is gone in a flash. You swear you'll never get used to seeing him move like that.

Panic settles in your stomach, clawing its way up your chest and around your heart; squeezing it like a vice. You've had panic attacks before, and only one person has been able to stop them. That person wasn't here. That person had pushed you away from him earlier. That person could be dead, or worse, been bitten.

After you scream at him for trying to comfort you, Deaton paces the floor as you fall apart.

The ticking of the clock on the wall only fuels your panic. It's time that Scott is searching. It's time that Peter could have bitten him. It's time spent imaging every gross scenario your twisted mind can come up with.

You don't hear the bell above the door.

You don't hear the footfalls as they hurry down the hall.

You don't see the feet stop in front of you.

You only feel the warm hands against your face, sweeping through the tears that have fallen.

Brown eyes search yours. "Breathe."

You grip the front of his shirt and do your best to match your breathing to his. Your fingers work over his shoulders and rest on the back of his neck, pulling him close until your foreheads are pressed together.

"Just breathe. That's it. You can do it." Gone is the panic his voice clung to earlier. Replacing it is concern, love.

By the time panic has released your heart and slithered back to where it came from, you notice he's crying, too. Not much, just a few tears have slipped past his eyelashes.

You nudge his nose with yours before pressing your lips against his, tasting your own tears. His lips are cool, nothing like the heat of his tongue as it sweeps over your bottom lip.

You can't stop the whimper in your throat when he pulls back. "I thought… I thought he got you."

He shakes his head, tucking some hair behind your ear. "Nah. I was too quick for him."

Scott scoffs. "Dude, I found you hiding in a cave." Deaton hides a smile behind his hand.

"Don't listen to him, it was all part of my plan."

In spite of everything, you find yourself smiling. You lean into his touch. "Your plan? Since when do you have a plan, Stiles?"

Chewing on his bottom lip, he winks playfully. "When it comes to protecting you, always."

Warmth spreads in your chest, replacing the cold ache that panic leaves in its wake. "I love you."

"I love you, too."


	2. Open Your Eyes

_I know I said this would be a one shot type of thing, but I found a writing prompt, and I went with it. This is the result. Pure fluff..._

* * *

><p>He calls you beautiful like it's your name.<p>

To him, it is. Because to him, you are the most beautiful thing he's ever seen. Not that you believe him. After all, you are your own worst critic. When you look in the mirror, all you see is that your hips are too full, your stomach isn't perfectly flat, the red birth mark on your shoulder is hideous… the list is endless.

The imperfections that drive you crazy on a daily basis are nothing but perfection to him.

_"__Open your eyes."_

_The reflection of you comes into focus. The dress you choose for prom is gorgeous, on the hanger. On you it leaves your multitude of imperfections bared to the world. Your birth mark stands out like a sore thumb. You press your hands against your soft stomach, nervously smoothing down the lace sash. You can't help but notice where the skirt falls, mid-thigh. The thighs you think are too big. Years of your favorite sport has made them muscular. There are plenty of other girls whose thighs were smaller, leaner. Like Lydia, or Allison, or any of the hundred other girls at Beacon Hills High._

_He knows how critical of yourself you are, he's heard you rant more times than either one of you can count. "I wish you could see you the way that I see you." His arms encircle your waist as he pulls you against him. _

_"__I wish I could, too. But that's not gonna happen."_

_He presses a kiss against the birth mark that takes up the majority of your right shoulder. "I'll just have to keep at it then, won't I, beautiful?" _

Your mom's fingers finish their work, one last bobby pin tucks a thick curl into place. With her hands on your shoulders, she gives a gentle squeeze. "I think for the first time in his life, Stiles is going to be speechless."

As soon as she starts to spin the stool, you clamp your eyes shut. It's not that you don't have faith in her ability to do hair, you know she can. It's bigger than that, deeper than that, and she knows it.

"Open your eyes, honey."

When you do, you find you almost don't recognize the girl staring back at you. Her hair is too perfect, and her make-up is flawless.

"Th – thank you, mom."

You don't miss it when she swipes her hand over her eyes. "You're so beautiful, honey."

As you stand, she helps you with the lace shrug you couldn't afford at the time you bought your dress.

_"__Mom, it's too much."_

_"__I don't want to hear another word about it, ok? If it makes you feel better, it's yours." _

"Aw, mom, don't cry."

She gives a dismissing wave of her hand. "Here, wear these." A string of pearls, and matching earrings lie in her hand.

They were your grandmother's, passed down to your mom on her wedding day. "No… I can't." _I'll lose them. _

"I'm your mother, humor me."

There is no point in arguing with her, she's too stubborn. You always roll your eyes when she has the audacity to question where you get it from.

As you're adding the jewelry to your ensemble, the doorbell rings. Butterflies suddenly erupt in your stomach. It's not like it's your first date or anything, but prom? You swore you'd never go. And yet here you are, dressed to the nines; enjoying every minute of it.

Scott's voice is suddenly outside the bathroom door. "Stiles is here, sis."

At the permission given, he pushes the door open. He's dressed head to toe in black. "Damn, bro."

"Language." Your mom swats at your arm.

His eyes are immediately on your bare legs. "I could say the same thing."

You feel the scarlet red of a blush blossom on your chest before stepping into the high heels you've spent the last two weeks breaking in. They were only a couple inches, making you the same height as your twin.

Giving your mom one last shy smile, you accept the arm offered to escort you to your date.

You hold your breath as you descend the stairs, your heels clicking against the wood. First you see a brand new pair of black Converse sneakers, no way was he going to wear the same shiny shoes your brother was wearing. Next you see a pair of black dress pants, followed by a short sleeve white dress shirt. Stiles' version of dressing up.

A silly smirk has taken control of his mouth by the time you stand in front of him. The butterflies in your stomach grow even more restless in the silence.

Finally, he speaks. "Beautiful."

* * *

><p>You're sitting bare-footed at the table. Even though you had worn these shoes for countless hours over the last two weeks, it still feels like you've broken your baby toes.<p>

Stiles, Scott, Allison and Lydia are in the middle of the dance floor, having a merry old time. Those girls are still wearing their heels. It wouldn't surprise you if you found out they slept in them. They probably didn't have any baby toes, either. Whoever invented these shoes apparently didn't wear them or didn't have any feeling in their toes. You wiggle your painted toes, trying to get the proper amount of blood flowing before you attempt another dance.

You must have been gone too long because Stiles is suddenly in front of you, his hand held out. "Come on." He's wearing his patented dopey smile.

"I'm tired, Stiles. Just let me rest for a minute."

He pulls out a chair across from you, drops down and holds out his hand. "Give me."

You know exactly what he means, but you arch a brow. "What?"

"Give me your foot." He wiggles his fingers as if beckoning them to jump into his lap.

You cross your ankles, and shake your head. "Stiles, do I need to remind you we're at prom?"

"What's your point, beautiful?" He reaches down, and uncrosses your ankles. With one of your feet clamped firmly in his hand, he straightens up.

You try to keep your breathing even, but his long fingers squeezing your foot, toes, and ankle make it extremely difficult. "People are gonna think-"

"Think what, exactly? That I'm massaging my girlfriend's foot? It's not like Coach is gonna come over and cite us for PDA!"

You risk a glance over your shoulder, and sure enough, there's Coach. He forces a smile before turning his attention to some kids crowding around the punch bowl. "Greenburg! That better not be what I think it is!"

Stiles pushes his thumb along the arch of your foot, and you can't bite back the moan. Even though the music is loud, you know he hears you. There's no hiding the blush that erupts down your neck and into chest. You really ought to get a handle on that.

The music changes from the techno, eardrum bursting bass to a much slower, piano based melody. Stiles stands with a hand held out. "You don't need your shoes to dance, come on."

You don't have it in you to say no to him, you don't think you ever will. Wrapping your hand in his, you let him lead you to the dance floor. With his arms around your waist, hands pressed to the small of your back, you lock your hands behind his neck; thumbs sweeping along the base of his skull.

What you're doing can't really be called dancing. Swaying to the music is more like it. Your feet shuffle next to his, spinning in a slow circle. Before you know it, the song has ended. You lift your head from his shoulder just in time to see your brother clap Stiles on the shoulder.

"Picture time!"

You shake your head. "You know how much I hate my picture being taken."

"I know, and I don't care, sis. It's prom!"

Allison appears next to Scott, with Lydia close by. The gorgeous red head has her cell phone in hand. "Come on, just one picture?"

Despite your objections, the group huddles together. Stiles is plastered to your back with Allison and Scott to your right, mimicking your pose. Lydia is in front, as she's the shortest, and holds out her camera for the prom selfie. You force a smile, and right when she takes the picture, you blink. Yes, you do it on purpose. No one notices, or they just don't care, except for Stiles.

While everyone else disappears into the crowd, Stiles tightens his grip, and produces his own cell phone.

"Stiles, I just took one."

Even though he has only one arm around you, you can't move. Must be all that lacrosse he plays. "You blinked."

"Did not."

His chuckle rumbles against your back. "Come on, beautiful. Just one more?"

The phone is lifted up, and you find that your eyes have fallen shut. After so many years of avoiding the lens, they close by themselves.

His mouth is against your ear. "Open your eyes."

The mirror image of you comes into focus. His thumb is poised over the shutter button, ready for your permission. You take a deep breath, and nod; smiling wide when he presses a wet kiss against your cheek.

_CLICK_

"Dare I ask for one more, or am I pushing my luck?"

You tilt your face up, sliding your hand up to grab at the back of his neck. "Shut up, Stiles." You vaguely hear the shutter click as you stand on tip-toe and kiss him.

He has you completely turned around to face him before you can utter a sound of protest, not that you would. You're quickly figuring out that you could get lost in the way he kisses, sounds, tastes, and smells. When you part, it's only because your lungs are screaming for air. That, and the fact that you can only go so far in a room full of people.

His eyes flutter open, lips parted slightly, and looking very kiss swollen. This is a look you could get used to very easily. You know your lips are in the same state as his. They tingle when he brushes his thumb over them.

"Beautiful."


	3. Take My Hand

"If you don't do it, she will die." His eyes flash beta blue as they drag over your injuries, lingering on the steady stream of blood flowing from multiple wounds. Peter is enjoying this. Perhaps, a little too much.

You can hear the barely hidden laughter coat his words, and it makes you sick to your stomach. Pain roars to life, forcing you to all but double over until it plateaus. Gritting your teeth, you glare at the werewolf, and hiss a not so ladylike curse at him. "Go screw yourself, Peter."

Scott swallows hard. His eyes are swimming with tears as they dart from you, to his best friend, and back again.

Stiles is at your side, his long fingers intertwined with your bloody ones. His thumb sweeps over your slick skin, pushing the blood away like a windshield wiper. But it doesn't stay pushed away. Like the rapidly falling rain that contributed your injuries, it's replaced, almost too quickly for your liking.

Less than one hour ago, everything was fine. The roads were dry, there was no rain, or thunder, or lightning strikes. There was no pain, no agony, no dying. There was only you, and Stiles.

_"__Take my hand." It shakes almost as much as his voice. _

_Oddly enough, yours aren't shaking. Despite the injuries, your hands are as steady as a surgeon's. "A – are you ok?"_ _Of course he was ok, he had been driving at the time. His side of the car was practically pristine. _

_He forces a smile as he digs for his cell phone. "Don't worry about me."_

_Your eyes flutter closed, and you hear the rapid beeping as he dials the one person that can save you in this kind of an emergency; Scott._

"Hey, stay with me." His voice is laced with panic as he softly slaps you. More of a caress, really. Stiles could never hit you.

He comes into focus slowly. Fear has taken hold of him, it's written in every inch of his face. "What? I'm not… not going anywhere. Scott?"

Your brother's hand is abnormally warm in yours, must be the werewolf blood pumping through his veins. He's having trouble keeping the Alpha contained; his eyes keep flashing between red and brown. "I'm sorry, sis."

_"__What happened?" Scott is on the scene moments later. He slides to a stop on the wet pavement, sending a wave of water against the driver's door. _

_Stiles releases your hand in order to climb out, and greet his best friend. "There was a lightning strike right in front of us, and… I freaked, man. I'm sorry." When Stiles says he freaked, he isn't overreacting. _

_He had yanked on the steering wheel, the tires spinning and sliding on the wet asphalt, sending the car passenger side first into a tree._

_It's then that you can see the recognition on your brother's face. Even through the rain that's beating down on them, you can see it hit him like a tidal wave. You are injured, badly. _

_Scott is on your side of the car and grunting, his hands digging into the metal as he pushes with every bit of his werewolf strength. Metal groans in protest, as do you, until the metal and wood are no longer joined. The door, or what is left of it, is gone, and you can hear your brother growl. _

Another wave of pain hits, but you don't react, and you know that's not a good sign. You squeeze your brother's hand. "I… I know you don't want to do this, Scott, what he's asking."

A deep throated whine is his only response.

"Just… tell mom –"

Stiles chokes on a sob. "No. Scott, you can't just let her die!"

Scott pins his friend to the seat with a bright red glare. "You think I want her to die?!"

_Your name falls from your brother's lips in an anguished growl. His eyes are wide as he lifts his hand to cover his mouth. _

_You can't feel your legs, so you can only guess that your spine has been severed. Risking a glance down, you see exactly why your brother is wearing that expression. Panic builds, clawing its way up your throat. You swallow at the bile that is quickly trying to escape, all the while staring at your legs. They're bent at such an angle you know that even if the paramedics would have been called, and had they been able to extract you; you'd never walk again. _

_You reach out to your brother. "Take my hand."_

_"__Well, well, well, what have we here?" Arrogance flows off the new arrival in waves. _

_You don't have to look to know who it is. "Peter, what do you want?" His name, along with your blood, is bitter on your tongue. _

_Scott whirls, releasing your hand, to face his creator. "Get the hell out of here."_

_Peter swaggers closer to the wreckage, getting an eyeful of your injuries. He hisses in fake empathy. "If you don't do it, she will die."_

You give both hands as much of a squeeze as you can muster. "Scott… if I… what if I wanted you to?"

The bright red in his eyes is gone, leaving the deep, chocolate brown that mirror your own. "No. I won't. I _can't_."

Stiles slides out from the car, disbelief written on his face. The rain washes the blood from his hands before he drives them through his hair. You becoming a werewolf has never been in the cards. Sure, it has come up in conversation before, and hell, he practically just begged his friend to save you, but… everyone had sworn that they would do all they could to protect you from Peter. They never thought Scott would be the one to turn you.

You chuckle gently, running a bloody hand over your brother's cheek. "Peter's right, Scott. I'll die if you don't do this." Your lungs are starting to lose function, causing your breath to catch as if you've spent the last few hours crying. "And I don't know about you, but I don't want to die."

He clenches his jaw. "I don't want you to die, but becoming this? That won't save you."

Hot tears push past your eyelashes. "Please, Scott. You… you can help me. You… and Derek… can teach me control."

"Yeah, Scott. You can help her." If you hadn't just been wrapped around a tree, you'd punch the smug look off Peter's face.

Your brother disappears in a blur as he lunges at Peter. They claw and bite at each other, snarling when claw and teeth miss their mark. Peter driven by power, while your brother is driven by something stronger; anger, and frustration.

You cough roughly, blood bubbling in the corner of your mouth.

Stiles presses a kiss against your forehead before shouting at your brother. "Scott, enough!"

Both boys are at your side again, your brother looking a little worse than a moment ago. His eyes plead with you. "Don't make me do this."

"Unless you want me to be tethered to Peter, you're the only other werewolf that can help me."

With another growl, Scott pushes up and storms away, his clawed hands driving through his hair.

Stiles climbs behind the wheel and kisses you, not caring about the blood. "Is this what you really want?"

"Yes." No questions asked. If turning into a werewolf meant that you won't die, that you would get to spend more time on this earth with Stiles, with your friends, and family, then yes, this is what you really want.

He nods curtly before catching Scott's alpha red gaze. "Scott, man, please."

Your eyes are full of tears as you raise your gaze to your brother. You can see the internal battle he's having. Lose you to death or to a werewolf, which is worse? You hold out your hand, and nod. "It's ok, Scott."

He kneels down next to the wreckage. You watch his features change from your human brother to the alpha werewolf that has torn other beasts to pieces in order to protect you.

Averting his red hued eyes, he grabs your forearm, and bares his teeth in a low, menacing growl.

Stiles forces you to look at him. "Take my hand."

You slide your slightly sticky hand between his much warmer ones. He forces a smile, and nods before pressing a kiss to your knuckles.

All you can hear is the rain pounding against the wrecked car. It drowns out the slowing beat of your heart, and the rattling of your lungs. You focus on the chocolate eyes of Stiles, and wait. You wait for your life to end. You wait for your life to change.

Just when you think your brother has backed down, you feel the pressure of his teeth against your skin; pushing, but not breaking the surface. You whisper another assurance to him, that it will be ok, that this is what you want.

That's when you feel it, the razor sharp sting of his werewolf teeth as they break through the soft surface of your skin.


End file.
